Sometimes
by SomeoneOnThisWorld
Summary: Basically a whole bunch of drabbles/oneshots (whatever you call it) about Sherlock and Molly, all inspired by Bowling for soup's awesome song Sometimes :D it's a lot of fluff, in a very Sherlock Holmes kind of way, if you know what I mean ;) rated T for possible cursing. Please review, if you don't mind, and enjoy the Sherlolly adorableness I have to offer :)
1. You make me feel so dumb

**He makes her feel so dumb**.

It was getting annoying. She was the one with the medical degree and still she was making _him_ coffee. Black, two sugars.

"Here you go," she said, putting the cup beside the microscope he was using. And all she got back was a small grunt.

She observed him as he didn't even look at the coffee, but just inhaled the smell, as if he was making sure she really brought him coffee. His eyes shot up as he smelt something else.

"Is that a new perfume?" he asked, turning to her. Molly rolled her eyes.

"No," she said, rather irritated. She hoped he would let go of the topic before she would have to explain herself, why her perfume was so noticeable. "I always use this one."

"I hadn't smelt it before," Sherlock said and inhaled deeply with his nostrils ready to show off. "A scent of something fruity and fresh. Huh, I thought you were more of a vanilla and chocolate scent kind of girl."

Molly opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with contiuing talking.

"Uh, and you used way to much. Going on a date with a special someone?" he grimaced. Molly almost snorted. As if he was interested in her love life.

"No, if you must know, Toby spilled it this morning," Molly mumbled. She hated the fact he was now critisizing her about her own perfume. She hated the fact he critisized her about anything, but she always put up with it, hoping it will be different sometime.

"And you did what? Wiped it up with your shirt?" Sherlock mockingly asked her.

"Of course not," she said. "I'm not _that _dumb. I don't know what obsessed him, but he jumped right at me, making me spill the perfume all over myself."

"I know you're not that dumb, Molly," Sherlock said as he took one last glance in the microscope. "I hardly think you're dumb at all. Still, don't you think you could change your shirt before you left home?"

"I was in a hurry," Molly said. "I was already late, I didn't have time to change."

"Well, thank god," Sherlock said as he stood up and started putting on his coat, glancing at Molly. "Knowing what your disgraceful wardrobe appears like, I am certain that you don't own a top that would fit you as well as this one does."

With that, he left, leaving the dumbfounded Molly alone in the lab.

_Am I really as dumb as I think, or did Sherlock Holmes really just pay me a sincere compliment?_

(A/N: I hope y'all liked it ;D please tell me what you think!)


	2. You put a smile on my face

**She can put a smile on his face**.

He didn't know, how she did it. He learnt how to display a fake smile at a dull and ridiculous joke and when someone said something genuinely nice to him.

"Hello, Molly Hooper," he said, trying to sound polite and professional as he entered the morgue. The way her name sounded with her surname attached to it made Sherlock, in confused realization, want to repeat her name over and over again.

"Hi," Molly squeaked. "You came to see the body of mister Roosevelt, I presume?"

"You presume right," Sherlock nodded. "May we see it?"

"It's already wheeled out," Molly pointed to the zipped up body in the middle of the room. "I'll be right with you, just give me a second."

She left the room and John and Sherlock went to see the body. Sherlock unzipped it and looked at the dead man's face. Or what was left of it. It was all more like a skull with some tissues still hanging on the bones.

"What exactly happened to him?" John asked. Even though he was a doctor and he saw many incredibly disgusting things in his life, this was a whole new level.

"He was attacked by a bunch of rats," said a familiar, and incredibly irritating voice. Both of the men turned and saw Anderson walking towards them.

"I didn't know your family was in the murdering business," replied Sherlock with a cold voice earning a death glare from Anderson with great satisfaction.

"And I didn't know you could be such a funny guy, Sherlock," Anderson said just in time Molly had walked back in.

"Molly, what is this clown doing here?" Sherlock childishly demanded.

"This _clown_," Molly gladly repeated Sherlock's insult as she glanced sharply towards her colleague, "is apparently the head pathologist during this case. I'm only assisting him." _Unfortunately._ Her professionalism kept her from saying the last word, no matter how much she wanted to say it and how much it would make Sherlock happy if she would.

Taking closer look at the body, Sherlock made his deductions.

"Where does he work?" he asked.

"In a factory, where we found him," Anderson replied. "The rats attacked him in a small room in the basement."

"Well, you are looking at someone rather big and strong," Sherlock announced. "Narrow it down to people that would be able to carry him. Seeing he was overweight, the man was supposed to be very strong to carry him."

"What do you mean?" Molly asked, hoping to hear more of his deep voice.

"The man was dead before the rats got to him," he said and circled around the forehead, where the skull was cracked. "I would guess he hit his head and died. The man with him got scared and carried – yes, carried, not dragged, which is why he doesn't have any bruises or cuts from being dragged on the rough floor – him to the basement where rats found a new meal."

"You actually saved us all days of work," Molly gratefully smiled at him. "It would take much longer to figure out what happened to him, since his body was in this horrible state when they found him."

"Well, since that is established and we will obliviously be able to have the night off," Anderson said, turning towards Molly, trying to, for once, show off in front of Sherlock. "What do you say we go and get some dinner, Molly?"

"Well," Molly said, a bit embarrassed at first, but then she continued in a confident, not her-like way. "Considering your proposal, which you made while we're standing above a dead body, I think I'd rather die."

Sherlock's eyes widened and a smile crept on his lips when Molly humiliated the man he hated. Even John raised his eyebrows when he heard the more confident side of Molly.

"I believe you aren't needed here anymore, Anderson," Sherlock said.

"Neither are you, Sherlock," Anderson commented.

"You're absolutely right," Sherlock said, wanting to leave as soon as possible, since he wasn't able to get the smile of his face. "Goodbye, Molly."

John followed him out and smirked smugly as he saw his friend's face.

"She has _that_ effect on you, doesn't she?" he asked knowingly, still noticing a smile on Sherlock's face.

"What effect?" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, his smile finally disappearing.

"Oh, I think you know," John said and went on, sniggering quietly at the clueless face of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock stood still for a while and then followed the doctor, with a smile creeping on his lips once again.

No one could ever make Sherlock genuinely smile. But Molly did ...

Sometimes.


	3. You make me week in the knees

**You make me week in the knees**

"Hey, Molly, could you pass me that test tube over there?" Sherlock motioned to the counter with a tube rack on it without taking his eyes of what he was doing. Molly went there, since she always gladly obeyed him, and sighed. There were exactly four tubes in the direction he was showing to and each of them had a different liquid mixture in them.

"Erm, which one exactly?" she asked. Sherlock looked in her direction for a mere second.

"The left one," he said, not noticing, or just simply not caring, that _all_ of the tubes were placed on the left side of the rack.

"This one?" Molly asked, holding up one of the tubes.

"No, no, no," Sherlock sighed in annoyance, as he stood up and walked towards her. He took the tube from her and at this gesture his long, cold fingers brushed against hers, hot flesh against cold, Sherlock for suddenly something surprisingly different from what he would expect. His heart fluttered, the warm touch of her hand spread from his palm towards his entire body. His head got dizzy and he almost lost balance, because his knees grew so weak so suddenly.

"This one," he said, rather breathlessly, still shocked from the amazingly strange experience, as he put one tube back and fetched another one. He returned to his workplace and with a corner of his eyes looked at Molly, if she noticed his reaction to their ever so slight touch. She didn't, though. She sighed and looked in the other direction from him.

Sherlock dropped the hope of finishing what he was doing and looked around the room to find something that would be small enough to make their hands touch again, for he wanted to feel that foreign feeling again.

"Hey, Molly?" he said when he returned his eyes on the project he was working on, trying not to reveal anything from his voice or body language. "Could you pass me the erlenmeyer flask on the counter?"

(A/N: here it is, another Sherlock's step to defining love ;P it wasn't really easy, trying to come up with something that would make him start actually _feeling_ something ... I hope I did a well anough job, though :P)


	4. I think it's cute when you sneeze

**I think it's cute when you sneeze**

"He died from a ..." Molly stopped in the middle of her sentence to turn around and sneeze away from the body.

"Bless you," John said, while Sherlock just bluntly looked at her, not sure with what in this small moment made him look away from the body at the sneezing Molly and lose concentration.

"Sorry," Molly said and smiled sheepishly. "I've got a bit of a cold."

"I'm not really asking for your troubles," Sherlock said coldly, looking back at the body. "You were saying?"

"He died from this wound over here," Molly pointed at the stab wound on his chest. "I don't know what kind of a dumb man you are after, but he tried to cover it up with a gunshot to the head. Like you could cover up a blood stain."

"Thank you, Mol..." Sherlock was cut off by another one of Molly's sneezes. This time, when he was actually looking at her while she sneezed, he noticed how charmingly her nose scrunched up as her hand flew to it and how adorably her eyes closed when she sneezed and how her eyelashes fluttered a few times after she opened them up again.

"You're welcome," she said. "I ..."

She sneezed again and this time, when Sherlock knew what to look at, he smiled slightly at the adorable sight. But then he noticed John looking at him and smirking oddly, so his smile was soon erased from his face.

"We should go, now," Sherlock announced. "Goodbye, Molly Hooper."

He left and John quickly caught up with his quick pace.

"Now there is something you don't see every day," he commented.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock acted as though nothing happened.

"Don't play dumb, Sherlock, it really doesn't fit you," John rolled his eyes and then grinned again. "Is it just me, or do you like the way Molly sneezes?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John," Sherlock scoffed. "Why would I like how someone sneezes?"

"No, not someone," John said, knowing Sherlock didn't really answer his question. "Molly."

"I have no idea, what you're talking about, John," Sherlock said and looked at John. "Maybe you caught some of that cold from Molly. You should stop talking before you get even sicker."

"That's not how cold works, Sherlock."

"Oh, what do you know."

"I'm a doctor!"

"of course you are," Sherlock sighed, almost sarcastically, but glad that they got on another topic. So what, if he thought Molly's sneezing was cute. It's not like he was going to confess that.


	5. Don't you know that you're the only one?

**You talk to much for me to figure out my motivation - don't you know that you're the only one?**

"We should take miss Bingley in closer inspection," Sherlock announced. "She was cheating on her husband, which is oblivious by her tan line around her finger and the wedding ring that you will find in her pocket. She is a deep smoker, but that is a little surprising, since her running shoes indicate she is a sports woman. Guessing from the worn out sole on those parts, and the red stain on them means she was a tennis player, and a quite eager one, since she's all bruised around the knees and the elbow. She threw herself even on the floor in order to get the ball ..."

"Sherlock, _please_," Molly sighed. Her words got the attention of everyone at the crime scene. She only then realized she was thinking out loud. "Oh, crap, sorry."

"What do you mean, Molly?" Sherlock asked, not looking at all angry to be interrupted.

"It's just, I have a hard time to concentrate with you rambling on," Molly admitted. "It's my first time on the crime scene and I'm hardly motivated to ever leave the lab again."

Everyone expected a witty comeback from the tall dark man, but were all surprised quickly.

"Alright, I'm sorry," Sherlock said calmly. "I'll wait until you're done."

Molly nodded and smiled thankfully, still a little embarrassed about cutting of Sherlock Holmes. She continued quickly, trying to get out of there as soon as possible.

Lestrade and John both looked weirdly at Sherlock and then exchange looks. It was only then when one thing and only one thing only was clear as day.

Molly Hooper was the only one person in the whole world who was able to shut Sherlock Holmes' mouth.

(A/N: here it is, another one! I especially like this one, because I always thought that Molly kind of had this effect on Sherlock :P)


	6. Sometimes you're just in the way

**Sometimes you're just in the way**

"Molly, could you go somewhere else, you're in the way."

"I'm standing sixteen feet away from yuo, Sherlock."

"And I'm bothered by it."

Molly glared at Sherlock's back. She really wasn't in the mood.

"And what exactly is so bothering?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"You're breathing is rather loud," Sherlock said, not even sending a look in her direction.

"My breathing is quite normal," Molly answered, ready for another critic.

But it never came. Sherlock Holmes remained quiet.

"Is there anything else that's wrong?" she asked him.

"You're talking too much, for one," Sherlock continued. "And your presence alone ... It's disruptive."

"Then why did you come here and made me stay here _two hours longer_ than I intended on staying here?" she asked, starting to become angry.

"I needed to test something."

"My patience?"

The room fell quiet as Molly suddenly remembered she's not being her old self. She wasn't quiet, nor was she nervous or shy around Sherlock.

"Sorry," she quickly apologized. "I'm just really tired."

"And still you use all of your energy on talking," Sherlock said and finally turned to look at her. His cold blue eyes met with her warm brown ones and they both stared at each other for a little while. That was, until Molly remembered again to be shy and looked away.

"How much time do you need?" she asked him. "I really want to go home."

"It will take me another minute or so," Sherlock said turning around. "Maybe if you move a little to the right, you won't be such a bother."

Molly raised an eyebrow, but still took a step to the right, if it will make him happy.

"A little more ..."

Molly took another step and Sherlock told her that this would be perfect.

"Just hurry up, now, or I'll probably fall asleep while standing," Molly yawned. Sherlock smirked as he took another glance at the mirror on the table, which now reflected Molly's tired image and made it possible for him to stare at her small figure while her pretended to be working. Molly appeared to be looking at him also, but thankfully she didn't notice, what he was really doing.

"Don't worry," Sherlock said. "Just standing right there, you're not at all in the way of my work."

And thus they kept staring at each other for another half an hour.


	7. Sometimes I just wanna kiss you

**Sometimes I just wanna kiss you**

"Thank you again for saving my husband from going in jail," a brunette woman thanked Sherlock. She stood in front of him and John with her husband, mister Drake, who was hugging her. "I don't know, what I would do, if I wasn't in his arms right now."

"It's always a pleasure to help, madam," Sherlock nodded.

"Mhm," John confirmed his friend, with his mind barely on the subject. He just sawMary walk in, his long-term girlfriend. They were together long enough to make Sherlock acknowledge her name and to make him realize Mary was here to stay.

"We should be off now," said mister Drake. "Goodbye, mister Holmes, and thanks again."

They walked away and John took the opportunity to go to his own girlfriend. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the sight of them kissing.

"Funny, how suddenly everyone has that special someone, huh?"

Sherlock turned to see Molly, who came up to him. She could see the slight surprise in his eyes, but then it was replaced with confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, you know. Love seems to be ruling over around here," Molly shrugged. "Just look at everyone. Mister and mrs Drake, John and Mary, Lestrade and his wife ..."

"She's still cheating on him," Sherlock darkly pointed out as they both looked at the married couple. Mrs Lestrade was glancing over and winking at one of the officers.

"Well, they at least appear happy," Molly sighed. "And even Donovan found her strange match," – they both looked over to Donovan and Anderson, who were talking and laughing over coffee, in more than just a friendly manner – "Who knew that hating you would bring two people together?"

Sherlock dismissed her last comment and rather looked at the small and shy pathologist besides him.

"And you?"

"Me?" Molly looked confused. "What about me?"

"Are you currently in a relationship?" Sherlock asked. Molly found the question a little suggestive, but didn't quite know in which direction it was turning.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked, hoping he would pay her a piece of his twisted genius mind.

"Well, you are only noticing all the sentiment here now, although it is all here for ages," Sherlock said. "Usually feelings of the observer alone can cause seeing so much of the same feeling around them."

"I'm not dating anyone," Molly said, oblivious to Sherlock's gleam of happiness that was shown for a moment in his eyes. "And I don't have to be an expert or in love to see what's in front of me."

Sherlock looked around again and saw mister Drake kiss the top of his wife's head as they walked out, how John kissed Mary on the lips and how Donovan kissed Anderson's cheek before she left.

He looked at Molly. She had lipstick on her lips. A new shade, he noted. It fitted her. Her lips were nicely emphasized and a small smile on her face brightened her whole face even more.

There was something inviting on her lips. Like they would have a voice of their own, screaming at him to touch her, to ... To kiss her.

Sherlock shook that thought out of his mind. There was never anything about kissing he found attractive. Too much spit, mixed up together, while the two lovers sucked their faces off. But still, why did he suddenly want to kiss _her_?

"I have to go," he said, trying to get the beautiful picture of kissing Molly Hooper out of his mind. In conflict with his words, his legs wouldn't move and his heart – yes, his _heart_. He had no idea what was going on – didn't want to leave.

"Yeah, I should go, too," Molly replied, seemingly facing with a similar problem. Sherlock's legs finally moved, but not in the direction he wanted them to. Instead of walking away, he took a step towards Molly. And another. And another.

He leaned in, much to Molly's surprise. His mind, eyes, lips and whole body itself, aimed for her lips, but in the last moment, he got a hold of it and changed the course, pressing his lips softly to her cheek.

"Catch you later, Molly Hooper," he said, just wanting to go already.

Molly looked at him, dumbfounded. She bit her lip, trying to suppress a big smile. He wanted to kiss her on her lips. It wasn't just her imagination, she could already feel his breath on them.

Sherlock Holmes tried to kiss her.

And she wouldn't mind, if he succeeded.

(A/N: please, R&R! And I hope you enjoyed this one at least as much as I enjoyed writing it ;))


	8. And tell you I love you

**Sometimes I just wanna tell you I love you**

Love.

Sherlock was sent deep in thought because of the word John had just uttered while talking on the phone. He and Mary sarted saying the 'L' word a few weeks earlier and he had already gotten used to it. But right now, it seemed different. Ever since the moment with the mouse-like pathologist occurred – when he stupidly tried to kiss her – he started hearing this suspicious word even more often than regularly.

"Hey, guys, you can come in now," Molly said as her head popped out of the door inviting Sherlock and John in. John gestured he'll be right there, still talking on the phone. Sherlock stood up, pushing away his mixed feelings and entered the room.

"So, what do you ... Are you shaking?" Sherlock deducted as soon as he transferred his look from the body to Molly. Molly bit her lip and stood more steadily on her ground.

"No, I'm not," she said and wondered what was wrong with her. She was perfectly okay with hiding her oblivious feelings, but since last week ... Let's just say she was feeling it all more intensively than before. "Um, miss Jones was found dead this morning. There are no signs of foul play on her body, though the apartment looked like two people were fighting. Maybe you would be able to see more than we can."

"How did she die?" Sherlock asked, feeling silly to even ask that. He moved closer to the victim and saw a nasty wound on her temple.

"Well, died from the hit right here," Molly said and her hand trembled under his look as he watched her point to the wound on her head. "She was supposed to hit her head on the coffee table, there was a blood stain on it, but – and this was why I insisted to get you ..."

"You insisted?" Sherlock questioned with a raised eyebrow and Molly visibly blushed. _Way to choose the wrong words, Molly_, she thought to herself.

"Um, no, I just ... Asked Lestrade to call you, because I ... Um, I noticed that the wound doesn't fit the sharp edge of that table," she stuttered. Sherlock found her embarrassed, shy and a little scared mixture of feelings on her face and in her voice ridiculously adorable. Now more than ever.

_What is happening to you?_ he asked himself, but couldn't find the logical answer to it.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "It was made with something that has a rounded edge."

"A baseball key, maybe," Molly guessed and Sherlock nodded. She continued with a new-found confidence, shocked with herself that she could talk to Sherlock in such way. "The victim had one – she got it as a gift from her brother, but she had it more as a decoration than anything else. There was no blood on it, but ... There was no dust on it either. Since miss Jones even forgot it was here, it seemed to me the murderer had to wipe it up clean and put the body besides the coffee table and smudged the blood over the corner so it would look like an accident."

"That was amazing," Sherlock said. He was astonished by her incredible deduction and tried to catch all the gleam in her eyes and all of the blush on her cheeks as he complimented her. "Did they check the baseball key for traces of blood?"

"No," Molly said. "Do you really think that they would believe a girl who cuts open post-mortems?"

"I think they should believe you," Sherlock decided to be on her side with this, even though there was no one in the morgue to object her theory. "Is there anything else remarkable on the body."

"No, not really," Molly shrugged. "As I said, no signs of foul play, which was also why no one listened to me. I could barely convince Lestrade to call for you, so you could decide if it's worth further investigating or not."

"I think it is," Sherlock said and started heading for the door. The slip of his tongue, when he expressed his true amazement, was enough of embarrassment for one day. "And I think people should learn to listen to your voice more often."

"My voice?" Molly squeaked.

Sherlock almost hit himself.

"I meant what you had to say," he corrected his earlier sentence. "People should listen to what you had to say."

"Well, some of us don't have the confidence to express what we think like you do," Molly smiled. Her whole body screamed love, but Sherlock for once couldn't make this deduction. He was more puzzled by his own feelings which he still couldn't define.

"Goodbye, Molly Hooper," he said, still loving the sound of her full name and Molly had to grip the counter beside her, so she wouldn't fall to the floor because of the sweet way her name sounded in his deep voice.

Sherlock went out and heard John finally say goodbye to his girlfriend.

"Okay, bye, Mary," he said lovingly. "I love you. See you tonight."

Sherlock glanced back inside to the morgue through the window on the door. He saw Molly talking with one of her colleagues. She saw him and managed to send a quick smile towards him before replying to her colleague. Sherlock subconsciously smiled back, though she couldn't see him any more and he was left to his thoughts and realizations.

Love.

Was this it?

(A/N: okay, this one was a bit longer than the others, but then again, it was worth it, I think. R&R, pretty please! :P)


	9. Sometimes I swear you make me sick

**Sometimes I swear you make me sick**

"John!"

John Watson looked up from his newspaper, only to see his best friend and flatmate in the worst state in which he has ever seen him.

"What happened to you?" he asked more pale than usual Sherlock in his pajamas and a robe.

"I'm afraid I'm sick, John," Sherlock stated. "I need you to tell me what sickness got to my system."

"I'm sure it's just a cold or a fever, Sherlock, no need to worry about it," John said, his eyes traveling back to the column he was reading. "A flu in the worst case, but that's highly doubtful."

"No, I've checked my symptoms for those and for more diseases," Sherlock whined and dramatically dropped himself on the couch across from John's armchair. "Nothing seems to fit!"

"Don't be so dramatic, I'm sure it's nothing serious," John sighed and put away his newspaper. He knew he won't get any time for himself until Sherlock will be satisfied. "Now, tell me, what's wrong?"

"Everything!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Well, that helps a lot," John muttered under his breath and tried to calm himself. "Can you be more specific?"

"Well, my head already hurts like hell, my stomach is doing these strange movements, that aren't all that bad, but it could be a start of something bigger, and I keep having these hallucinations in my head!" Sherlock said, clearly unhappy with his state. "Thank Lord there isn't any fluids coming out from just any end of my body!"

"Wait, you said hallucinations," John seemed confused. "What kinds of hallucinations?"

"They aren't much, but ... Things appear in my mind, like short films or memories, and sometimes I have a feeling someone is here when they're not," Sherlock tried to explain. John raised one of his eyebrows and tried to think of any kind of hallucinations that could fit his description.

"And what exactly happens in them?" he asked. "Is there any specific person in them or is there something strange going on in them?"

"What are you, my psychologist?" Sherlock snapped.

"No, but I'm trying to figure out what in the hell is wrong with you!" John snapped back and then sighed, collecting his mind. Sherlock looked a little defensive at the mention of a person, so he tried again. "Is there a person haunting you?"

"Not haunting, more like appearing. And it's ..." Sherlock sighed and lied down, looking at the ceiling. "Molly."

"Molly?" John asked, puzzled by Sherlock's answer.

He half expected him to say Jim Moriarty or Irene Alder, but ... Molly?

"Molly Hooper?" John still tried to clarify.

"Yes, John, Molly Hooper, what other Molly do we know of?" Sherlock snapped and sat up, finally opening up. "She is ... _everywhere_, John. Sitting on my bed, bringing me coffee, showing me a body in the morgue, helping me with an experiment, kissing me ..."

Sherlock shut up immediately, but it was too late. The two words fled through his mouth before he cold stop them.

"Kissing you?" John asked. "You think about Molly Hooper kissing you?"

"I said I was sick, John! Ill mind has their own way of thin..." He was cut off by John, who started laughing heartily. "And what is so funny?"

"Oh, I just figured out your condition," John said.

"And what is it?" Sherlock asked, annoyed because he took so long to tell him and eager to know something he didn't. John picked up his newspaper and stood up, heading to his room.

"It's nothing for you to worry about, like I said before," John said. "In fact you're perfectly healthy ... And human, if you want to know."

He went to his room, trying not to chuckle at his clueless friend.

"Sherlock Holmes," John muttered to himself once he was sure his flatmate couldn't hear him. "You are bloody in love with Molly Hooper."

(A/N: I'm back! Wahahahaha! Sorry, for the 1-week delay, but I'm on vacation at the seaside and there are only two cafes with free wifi here, so I can't post stories as often as I'd like to. But don't worry, I don't need the internet to write ;D there are still a lot of chapters to write for this story and I've already had an inspiration for 2 new stories about Sherlolly :D please, R&R!)


	10. You say you think I'm a square

**You say you think I'm a square**

**You don't like the clothes that I wear**

"You're square, you know that?" Molly pointed out and was already sorry she spoke at loud, as soon as she started talking. Sherlock turned his head from the microscope and looked at her with an eyebrow slightly arched.

"Excuse me?"

"You're square," Molly said, as she barely stood her ground under his amazingly attractive stare. "You're conservative, never willing to have any fun and you are way too honest for anyone's opinion. I tried to think of a word that could describe you. And here it is."

John sat on his chair and watched them from afar, not uttering a word. By the look on both of their faces, he knew it was going to get interesting.

"You silly little Molly," Sherlock shook his head. He had an amused smile on his face as he was encouraging the break from his work. He had an excuse to look at Molly after all. "Please, enlighten me, what makes you think I'm any of those things?"

"Well, um," Molly stuttered, a little nervous about her deductions. "You're always doing the same old things, in a same old kind of style. For example, you waltz in here and when you're in need of the laboratory, you never ask, you just say you need it, not letting me question you on anything about it. Or you come and ask sweetly to look at a body in the same, drilled tone and the same words."

The careful Sherlock Holmes, who _always_ did something different, just for the sake of no one ever being able to read him, realized it was true. He looked back on all of the memories of him coming to St. Bart's. It was always the same, though sometimes he was himself, sometimes he wasn't.

"And as for having fun ..." Molly continued. "Please tell me, have you ever thought of just doing something different than solving a case or doing an experiment?"

"I did." And he was speaking the truth. These few past days he mostly thought of her. How her hair looked, what changed since the last time he saw her and how she brightened his day with only her presence. And every time she made a deduction of her own, she got secret bonus points in Sherlock's mind – not that she knew that, of course.

"Of what?" Molly asked, sincerely curious about the answer. She waited for Sherlock to give her an answer and thought of his hesitation as time he needed to think of something, not as time he needed to think of a good enough excuse for not telling the truth.

"My mind is perfectly capable of thinking about more than just two important things that make my life a bit less dull," Sherlock cleverly finished the conversation about it. He looked at Molly. "And as it is for the last accusation, the one about me being _too_ honest ... I am honest, I tend to pronounce what I see in words. But I don't think anyone physically able to be _too _honest."

"What do you think of what I'm wearing right now?" Molly asked. Sherlock took the chance for a free examination of her body. He frowned inwardly. The grey sweater, with the word HARVARD printed on it in big red letters, she was wearing didn't hug her curves as he hoped he would, though the jeans she was wearing seemed acceptable. They were shaping her bottom and slim legs perfectly.

"Well, the sweater is horrible," he decided to emphasize the fault in her clothing. "It's way to big for you, and I know you didn't go to Harvard, you went to a colleague here in London, but since it's a men's sweater, I would guess brother or father. Your brother is the more rebellious type, so I guess he went to America and sent you only this as a message that he didn't forget about you. Your jeans seem acceptable, though they aren't new. The material is already worn out, so I would guess they're pretty old. From when you went to colleague, I would presume. Hm, I didn't know women were able to carry on having the same weight they had ten years ago."

Molly pursed her lips, annoyed at the mention of her brother. How did he know those things?

"This is just what I was talking about," she said as she tried not to look hurt. She pulled on the fabric of the sweater and decided to not tell him about how by sending this sweater was the biggest thing her brother did in the past years to show love and affection she knew he didn't have for her.

She bit her lip and looked at Sherlock, who was already deciding the talk was over. With a corner of her eyes she saw John, who apologetically looked at her, as if trying to say sorry for his friend. She let a sad half smile shine on her lips, before she excused herself and walked out.

"Why did you do that?" John asked Sherlock. "Can't you, with your genius mind, see how much you're hurting her with things you say?"

"She wanted me to be honest, just to prove her point. And I did just that – if anything, she was supposed to be happy."

"You dumb arse," John said, raising his voice. "If you want to make her happy, you have to compliment her hair or say something nice about her! Don't just criticize her clothes like a douchy fashion designer."

Sherlock, to John's surprise, looked up from his project, interested in what John had to say.

"So she wasn't happy that I helped her make her point?" he asked, like he had a slower mind than a simple-minded farmer.

"No," John said. He calmed down a little bit, but he still wasn't sure why Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective, the one person who didn't care about anyone ... Actually seemed to care about Molly Hooper.

He had already tried to continue talking, but was cut of by the small pathologist, who came back in. Sherlock stood up, ready to leave.

"Well, John, our work is done here," Sherlock said. He took another glance in the microscope, making sure that what he thought was true. "Let's go tell Lestrade the butler did it."

As they went out, Sherlock made a quick deduction on Molly's face. Her mascara was a bit smudged, but was wiped of her cheeks quickly and with lack of accuracy. She tried to hide the fact that she was crying.

That he made her cry.

And it probably wasn't the first time.

"By the way, Molly," he could hear himself call out, when he was halfway through the door. "The red writing on the shirt really brings out your naturally blushed cheeks. Maybe you should wear red more often, it would be a nice change. And, for the love of God, wear your hair down for once. No one will notice how well I fits your eyes, if you keep on wearing them in a ponytail."

He left then and John followed, almost laughing out of cheerfulness.

It might not seem like much, but he was sure as hell he just witnessed Sherlock Holmes paying a compliment ... Well, a compliment that would need some exercise.

"Oh, and Sherlock?" he said, trying not to sound as if he was mocking him. "Next time try and say those things when she will actually be wearing her hair down and a new shirt."

Sherlock looked like he didn't hear him, but it was everything he wanted to hear as an insurance he hadn't said anything wrong again.

The tall man's lips curved in a smile so small it wasn't noticeable even to John, who was walking next to him.

Molly Hooper would indeed look nice with her hair down and a red shirt.


	11. You know I really don't care

**You know I really don't care - well, maybe sometimes**

Molly tried not to look at Sherlock while he was working on anther experiment in the was getting late and it was already way past her shift, but she wasn't at all tired and neither was he. John, on the other hand, was sleeping soundly on one of the chairs, leaning his head on the counter.

Sherlock didn't mind her at all. He hasn't even talk to her since he came. And she decided she won't mind him. It couldn't be very hard, right?

Her eyes were starting to ache for a glance towards him, but her healthy mind strongly objected. She knew that one more heartbreak caused by this tall handsome man will make her a new dead body on which Sherlock will be able to experiment on.

"So, Molly?" Sherlock spoke to her for the first time this night.

"Yes, Sherlock?" she said, not being able to stop herself from being happy he finally noticed her, even for a little bit. The way she said his name sent a wave of unfamiliar chills throughout Sherlock's body. They've become regular, he noticed, when he was with her. Still, he couldn't get used to them.

"Um," he stammered, trying to pull himself together, "am I keeping you here for too long? You've been quiet for some time now, and as far as I've deduced with John, being quiet usually means anger. Have I kept you away from some date?"

_A date? Seriously?_ Sherlock's mind screamed. _Why would you care if she has a date? No, no, Sherlock Holmes, you DO NOT care!_

"Um, no, no, no date," Molly shook her head rapidly. "I was just ..." She sighed. She said three words too many and actually got Sherlock's attention and curious look rather than make him forget about her again. She continued, knowing there was no point in lying to a living lie detector. "I was thinking about caring for ... someone."

"Caring for who?" _Damn it, when did he get so nosy?_ Molly thought, while in Sherlock's mind jealousy has taken over his relief that flew throgh him when she told him she wasn't seeing anyone.

"For you, Sherlock," Molly finally admitted out loud what she's been feeling throughout the years. "I care for _you_ and it's killing me!"

"If it's so hard for you, why do you care?" Sherlock asked. He got an idea, a stupid idea, in the back of his mind, wanting to hug her and hold her close and apologize for every single pain he had caused her.

"I don't know," Molly laughed at her silliness. If only it was that simple. "I have no idea why in the bloody hell I care. But I can't just turn off my feelings, as you can, obliviously."

_Of, if only I could, _Sherlock sighed in his mind.

"You're incorrect," he said instead, thinking (although he was unknowingly thinking mistakenly) lying seemed like a good cover for his, still unresolved, truth. "I don't turn off my feelings. I simply don't have them. I never care."

With that, the conversation was done and they both quietly got back to work. None of them noticed John Watson waking up in the middle of their conversation, filled with more feelings than even they could see. He looked at both of them with only one eye half open. Each of them was hiding something behind the stone mask on their faces – Molly hid embarrassment in being shut down like that after expressing her true feelings and pain Sherlock once again caused on her poor heart, while Sherlock ... He couldn't resolve the puzzle that appeared on his friend's face.

After several long moments of complete silence, Sherlock stood up, cleaned the tools he was using, announcing he had to go. He snapped his fingers in front of John's face, signaling him it was time to wake up. John yawned and stretched from an uncomfortable sleep and before he even stood up, Sherlock already left.

"He was lying, you know?" John felt the need to tell Molly. "He does care. About certain people and only in certain times, but he does."

Molly looked at him and smiled a sad smile.

"It's okay, John," she said. "There's no need to make me feel better. I know how he is and that he'll never change. It's only hard for me to get over the fact I'm unseen and unheard when he's around. The dumb side of my brain just keeps hoping things might change."

"Don't give up hope," John smiled at her and left.

If only she had any idea!

(A/N: I'm back! Sorry for the long delay, but I had in my mind that I've uploaded the last two chapters, which appparently I didn't ... I looked to check which chapter was the last and I was like _WHAAAAT? _when I saw I didn't upload from here :P anyways, to all the faithful followers out there – prepare for Niagara falls of chapters ;D you've been warned!)


	12. Chapter 12

**You talk too much for me to figure out my inspiration**

"Here he is," Molly led Sherlock and John to the opened body in the morgue. "I didn't have time to finish up the autopsy before you guys came."

"How did he die?" John asked, knowing he won't hear Sherlock ask this question. He was too proud to admit he couldn't acknowledge the cause of death when he couldn't see it.

"Oh, he was stabbed right here," Molly said and gently touched the lungs and stretched them carefully, so that a whole in them was seen better. "It was a long knife, like a sword. The wound is not very wide, so I'm thinking he was stabbed with a katana sword. I don't know how may people in London have it, but I think it would narrow down the suspects a bit. My dad owned one, you know? It's a beautiful piece. I still have it, if you'd like to ..."

"Thank you, Molly, that would be enough," Sherlock harshly cut off her rambling. Though he found her voice very entertaining to listen to, he had to stop her if he wanted to get inspired with an idea.

"Right, sorry," Molly mumbled and bit her lip. There was a complete silence for some time. Sherlock gladly deduced and thought about the case in peace and quiet, but soon he was otherwise occupied.

Molly seemed different today. She wore her hair down, he gladly noted, but she kept a few strands away from her face with some pins. The eyes, the ones that matched her hair so perfectly, looked, however, sadder than when they walked in.

He needed a moment to figure out what could cause the change of her mood, and when he did, he almost kicked himself right there.

Why did he always say all the wrong things?

"Alright, I have about five ideas so far," he said, looking back to the body, pretending he's been thinking about the case the whole time. He looked up at Molly again and this time she looked back at him, only to make his stomach tingle in a strange way.

"I would very much appreciate if we could borrow your father's katana. We need it to test my first three ideas."

Molly's eyes brightened and that almost made him smile. His try on showing her he listened to her the whole time worked perfectly.

"Of course," she nodded keenly.

"Great. Bring it to Baker street in half an hour," Sherlock said and swiftly turned to leave without saying a proper goodbye, like always.

"Don't you have your own katana sword?" John asked him as they were heading out and the question made Molly blush.

_No,_ she harshly thought to herself. _Sherlock wouldn't ask _me_ to come by and borrow him something he already has._

Would he?


	13. Every once in a while I make her smile

**Every once in a while I make her smile**

He cursed himself a thousand times for letting John and Mary talk him into this.

When John finally made him realize that he was, indeed, helplessly in love with Molly, Mary was, of course, the first one to find out. After five dreadful minutes of dancing around, unnecessary hugging and shrieking out of happiness, it became two against one when it came to admitting his feelings to _her_.

And now, despite his protests and pathetic tries to convince them he wasn't in love with her at all, he was awkwardly standing in front of the door that lead to the lab. He would see Molly cleaning some tools. While she was leaning over the sink her long hair, pulled up in a pony tail, fell over her shoulder and she was wearing a red blouse, he much gladly noted, under her unbuttoned lab coat.

He nervously loosened his tie that Mary made him wear and then took it off, along with the suit jacket and threw them on a bench next to the door. He felt stupid for even being manipulated in wearing those in the first place.

He sighed once again and straightened his dark purple shirt (what did Mary say about it again? That it made him more attractive? How in the bloody hell can a specific shirt make you more attractive than any other?) and finally opened the door.

"Oh, h-hi, Sherlock," Molly said as she acknowledged his arrival – and stuttered when she acknowledged the dark purple shirt that made her head dizzy. But Sherlock, as observant as he was, didn't notice any of that. He was more distracted by the way her big chocolate brown eyes made his heartbeat quicken and he could almost feel his pupils dilate at the sight of her.

"Hello," he barely managed to say. He was a nervous wreck, for the first time since senior year of high school, and the low cut v-neck of that red shirt, which was lower than he thought, did not help at all.

"What do you need?" she asked politely. Even if she would be ever so speechless because of Sherlock, this question never seemed to be unwelcome with the tall man and she easily got used to asking him that question. "Um, your microscope is currently out of order, but you can use any other one."

"No, I don't need the microscope," Sherlock said and didn't even bother correcting her how the microscope wasn't in fact his, neither did he prefer it, but just got used to the one he was using almost all the time. "I'm just curious about something ... On a personal level."

"What is it?" Molly questioned. It wasn't often that Sherlock was curious about something. He usually had it all figured out.

"What is your blood type?" Sherlock blurted out, not really rethinking how he should work this out. In the end of a silent argument in his own mind, he decided to simply follow his heart, like Mary and John advised him, no matter how ridiculous it was. You can't literally make decisions while listening to your heartbeat, but his mind seemed to be one again blocked, so it was at least worth a shot.

Molly, on the other hand, was surprised with the question, though she didn't know why. She honestly didn't know what to expect him to ask. For Sherlock, a person's blood type seemed to be a personal matter.

"M-my blood type? Wh-why do you want to know that?" she unwillingly stuttered a question, to which she already knew the answer to. He needed a blood sample for an experiment. John maybe didn't have the right type, or he just refused to give his blood to him. So he came to the naive Molly, who would say yes before she even heard the question.

"Well, I'm working on an experiment," said Sherlock and watched how painfully the glee in Molly's eyes faded away, once he approved her suspicions. He could only hope his _heart_ (he thought of that god-forsaken organ as it was the most evil thing in his body right now) had something better planned and let it go on. "I overheard John talking something about Mary filled his stomach with millions of butterflies – ludicrous, really ..."

_"You have to tell her how you feel when you're around her," John advised him between the waterfall of other advises Sherlock noted as stupid. "For example, Mary makes me feel like my stomach is occupied with butterflies."_

"... And she replied to him that her heart is filled with love she has for him, even when he's not around."

_"And tell her how you feel when she isn't," Mary cheerfully supplemented her boyfriend's words. "Take my heart, for example, as it still hold all of my love for John, even if he would be on the other side of the world."_

"And then I got to thinking," Sherlock said, while Molly was more and more confused by second, but, by the looks of it, in a more positive way. He started to trust his heart again, as he found her in a little better mood and continued. "My mind has lately been more occupied by you than anything else. In a way, I could possibly say _you_ filled my mind. And by now I started to wonder ..."

He took another deep breath and only when Molly started to blush and as her pupils dilated, he realized he was now slowly walking towards her. In a corner of his mind, a voice that sounded much like Mycroft started to question him, whether this was even a good idea.

"What did you start to wonder?" Molly asked. Her eyes were wide and her pupils dilated, as she stood still, frozen up by his slow movements towards her. Her question encouraged Sherlock to man up, as John would put it, and finish what he started.

"I started to wonder ... What fills your heart?"

Molly smiled as widely as she could, as she heard those four simple words. She didn't let herself have time to rethink them and find a possible, non-romantic logic only Sherlock could attach to them, and just went with it. Her heart, already beating rapidly, started to dance around her chest and her mind became completely blank momentarily, only Sherlock's deep baritone and the most romantic thing he ever said ringing out in it. She was only barely aware of what she was doing – walking towards Sherlock, putting her hands on his cheeks, standing on her tiptoes –, until her lips collided with his.

Instead of the normal butterflies, the said creatures began exploding in her stomach and her heart not only skipped a beat at the gentle, though a passionate contact, but literally stopped for a few seconds.

Sherlock was taken by surprise, when the kiss occurred, but it most certainly wasn't unwelcome, which he proved by kissing back with passionate skills that made Molly moan as she felt him returning the kiss.

His mind, for the first time since he realized he could store many informations in it, erased every data saved in it. It was just Molly Hooper, Molly Hooper, Molly Hooper ...

His heart, however, was more than just preoccupied. It started beating faster than ever and the overload of the rushing blood in his brain made him dizzy and his knees became so weak he had to push Molly against the closest counter in the heat of their kiss, so they wouldn't fall over.

They finally broke away from the most magical twenty-eight seconds of their life, gasping for much needed oxygen, though they felt like they didn't need now want it moments before breaking apart.

"That was a nice turn of events," Sherlock commented with a breathless voice and the happiest smile. His eyes were still fixed on Moll's and she could see how his pupils were dilated just as much as hers probably were. "This is probably the best experiment result I've ever gotten."

"Well," Molly said with a low, strangely seductive voice, not sure whether she really just became this confident, or whether it was just the adrenalin talking, "maybe you could come by my flat after I finish my shift and you could get an even better one."

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she watched with satisfaction how Sherlock's pupils almost swallowed his beautiful irises.

"I'd be most happy to," he said. Knowing this was his cue for letting go, he finally stepped away, making both of them feel cold without the direct presence of the other. After pressing one more peck on her lips (for the road, he thought to himself), he whispered: "See you tonight."

He started walking to the exit, when he heard Molly's voice once again.

"Oh, and Sherlock?" He turned around, gladly taking in her beautiful figure and blushed face.

"It's B+," she bit her lower lip as she smiled again. "And you."

(A/N: here it is – finally! Sorry for the delay, but I was a bit preoccupied by my current personal writting project (yes, I'm writing a book, if you're wondering) and you can't imagine my furry, when, in the middle of rewriting this chapter (I had it in a notebook) and writing my first chapter, my dad so nicely confiscated my computer for a few days -.- but, enough of my nagging, let's be glad for the main fact of this chapter, and that is that Molly and Sherlock got together! The last line Molly said might have been a bit cheesy, but that is exactly how I imagined it :P)


	14. You make me so happy sometimes

**For you I'd eat tofu, and I don't like tofu, but you make me so HAPPY sometimes!**

"Are you sure you don't want some?"

Sherlock looked away from Toby in his lap as his _girlfriend _(as much as he hated to admit it, calling Molly his girlfriend was actually a great advantage and pleasure) sat across from him at the kitchen table in her apartment. He smiled as her hair was still a bit ruffled up from last night, because she didn't bother fixing it, since her work only started in later hours, and she looked rather adorable wearing his white shirt that was buttoned up only so she could cover up all of his favorite parts on her body – he still didn't understand why, since she had no wish to hide her body last night. Or the night before that, or the night before that ...

He only barely glance at the plate with spaghetti in her hands and sighed.

"Molly, I've told you before, I don't ... Mmph!" He was cut off by a fork, covered in pasta being shoved inside his mouth. He tried to cover up the disgusted look on his face as he chewed the spaghetti, but he didn't do a very good job, since Molly giggled as he swallowed.

"I'm guessing you're not a big fan of tofu, then," she commented jokingly.

"This is what it was?" he asked, joining her giggle with a deep chuckle. After two weeks in the relationship he gave up on trying to keep sentiment away from his cases.

Molly nodded. "Spaghetti with tofu sauce," she explained. "I know I'm not much of a cook, but this is what I like to eat and it's quick to prepare, so I eat I most times."

She rolled the pasta on her fork and carried it to her mouth, but was surprised by Sherlock, who reached over, grabbed her hand and carried the fork to his own mouth. This time he expected the taste and he was quick to acknowledge it, so this time he didn't show any signs of disgust.

"Hm, it gets better with every bite," Sherlock stated after he swallowed and smiled at his Molly. He smiled even more at that thought and at the way she giggled. She was, indeed, _his_. And he loved every second of it.

"You won't fool me, Sherlock Holmes," Molly smiled, not oblivious to the adoration in his eyes. "You don't have to eat tofu just because I like it."

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief.

"To be honest I would much rather take a bullet for you," he smiled sheepishly. Molly giggled again and blushed at his statement, though he's been saying sweet things like that ever since they were together.

Sherlock smile widened. In that exact moment he decided nothing in the world could make him happier than Molly Hooper.

(A/N: here it is! A little epilogue and a hopeful request (you don't need to read this, but I'll consider you as saints if you will) ... I got an idea for three different Sherlolly stories and I can't devide which one to write first! One is similar ot this one, just that I'll take disney songs (four, to be exact) for an inspiration, the second one has a lot to do with fainting (on Molly's part) and the last one is my (sherlolly themed) hope, inspired by the teaser. Which one would you like to read (first)? I'll be more than grateful for your answers!)


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